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Summary
“When I became the King of Azgeda... that first night, after they crowned me; after everything I’d done to get there; everything we’d done, to put me there.... I went to bed that night in that fucking tower, half a mile above the ground in a big feather bed with all the comforts and luxuries I could want. And all night long, I tossed and turned and wished I was here.”
Clarke reached out, putting her hand on his shoulder and offering silent comfort, unsure what to say in the face of his admission.
“Roan...” she began, though she had no idea how to continue. He cut her off before she could.
“In Allie’s bunker, we spoke about it being a hard day... do you remember what you said?” he asked, turning his head back to look at her.
“They’re all hard,” Clarke whispered, nodding.
“They don’t have to be,” he told her.